Words Are Meaningless
by Sergeant Toast
Summary: Zevran tells Alistair how to let a certain woman know he loves her. The catch? Zevran's still not over the same woman. Alistair/F!Cousland/Zevran


**Author's Note: **This is (I think) a oneshot mostly involving Zevran from _Dragon Age: Origins. _Mostly. And it may eventually turn into something that actually has chapters. Like I said, thus far, it's a oneshot. So... read and enjoy, I guess. Leave a comment/critique or whatever you want. xD

A small group of people had set up camp in the wilderness just hours ago. There was a fire still burning, sending small crackles into the night sky as if they were trying to reach the tiny stars so far above. Only two people were gathered around the fire. Sten had excused himself with the most excited look anyone had ever seen on the Qunari, to go into the nearby forest with his new sword. The others left him to it, deciding the poor man needed time to remember the feel of his own blade in his hands. Leliana had sat by the fire for a while, mostly singing to herself. Everyone else had left her to it. Some found it calming, others found it made concentrating even more difficult. After a bit, Leliana had retired to her tent to admire the blue satin slippers that Raven had given her as a gift. Morrigan was off at her distant tent, far, far away from the others with her own fire, either asleep or reading her mother's Grimoire. No one except Raven really checked on Morrigan, though, because it seemed Raven was the only person out of their group Morrigan could tolerate. It seemed they even liked each other, though the mere idea baffled the rest of their ragtag group. Raven, however, had retired to her tent earlier this evening. Wynne was off talking to Shale about her memory... again. Wynne was ever-determined and curious about Shale's origins, which was good, depending on how you looked at it. It meant the rest of the group was pestered to help find out about them, but it also meant that Shale and Wynne had something in common. Besides, because of her curiousity about this, Shale liked Wynne. So, it also gave her incentive to not slaughter them all, which was always a plus. Oghren was, as per usual, passed out in his tent. Surprisingly, it wasn't because he was drunk and he hadn't really done it to himself this time. He'd annoyed Zevran earlier, who had, in turn, slipped something into his first beer to cause him to pass out. The rest of the party had assumed as much, but it was nighttime, and if Oghren was passed out, then they didn't have to hear him yelling about nugs and more beer, so they just let it pass.

This meant that it was just Alistair and Zevran staring into the fire with a terse, awkward silence between them. Alistair would have liked to compared to the archdemon itself sitting between them; Zevran would have compared it to half the whores of the whorehouse all having sex with someone else at the same time doing so in between them. In this case, Zevran's case was definitely more awkward and also more fitting, as Alistair and Zevran did not particularly want to kill each other. They didn't exactly get along, no, but killing was a thing for darkspawn. And people that needed it, as anyone in the Crows would say. Neither knew what the other was being so quiet about, though. Alistair was especially surprised; Zevran never shut up. Zevran, on the other hand, had assumed that Alistair would be back to bed by now. He'd been asleep earlier, but had woken up and crawled back to the fire.

"So, comrade, what is it that wakes you up in the middle of the night?" Zevran asked nonchalantly, glancing over to the red-haired Grey Warden, then back to the shining silver stars in the sky. His thoughts absentmindedly went to Raven; not for himself, but as for what was keeping Alistair up. Not that that was surprising. Alistair and Raven had had a thing going on since they reached Orzammar; that was remarkably long enough, though, seeing as they'd already been to the Brecilian Forest and the Circle Tower. It was easy to see in her eyes just how much Raven adored him, and vice versa. It was almost as if Alistair worshiped her. Which, of course, made Zevran wonder if he'd been right even in Alistair's eyes when he called Raven a deadly sex goddess.

Alistair reluctantly looked away from the fire and over to Zevran, wondering if he should tell him or not. Zevran had been an assassin for the Crows. He would be good at keeping secrets, right? Or giving advice, at the least. From all the stories he told, Zevran had quite the experience with women, which was much greater than Alistair's own experience of absolutely zero. And advice from an experienced person was good, right? Even if said experienced person was a sleazy elf. "I... had a dream," he said eventually.

Zevran's eyebrows lifted up curiously. "You were... having naughty dreams, Alistair? About whom?" he pressed with a grin.

Alistair didn't look nearly as amused as the elven assassin did. Instead, he looked back to the crackling flames of the fire, wondering if he should even grace that question with a response. It wasn't like... it wasn't like they'd been _naughty _dreams, exactly. It was just a very passionate kiss. And then it had dissolved, changed, so Alistair was seeing the archdemon again. He'd woken up in a cold sweat; something he'd admit he wasn't fond of. Not that the archdemon was any better. "I was having Grey Warden dreams, Zevran."

"Saying you were dreaming about Raven would have sufficed," the elf said, laying down on his back. Glancing over, Alistair saw him surpressing a grin. He groaned and stood up, unable to take any more of Zevran's games and assumptions that everything was about sex. "Hey, now!" Zevran suddenly said, quickly pulling himself up to a sitting position. "I was just joking, my good friend Alistair. Sit, please."

Alistair sighed, but decided to humor him, and took a seat next to Zevran. "Have you finished, then?"

"Finished...?"

"Assuming everything is related to sex."

"Of course not. Now, why don't you tell me about your Grey Warden dream?" Zevran suggested, propping himself up on an elbow.

Alistair looked at the eager assassin for a moment, then up to the stars. Sometimes he'd thought about wishing on one, but then stopped, reminding himself that wishing upon stars was for foolish children, not grown men that were supposed to slay the archdemon and stop the Blight. "Oh, the usual. The wiping out of the human race, nothing but the occasional pigeon and dust bunny left. Nothing too horrible, really."

"Ahh. Well, I'm glad to hear that. Since it seems your Grey Warden dreams are quite like my normal nightmares, I think we should change the subject," Zevran announced haughtily, smiling broadly at him.

Alistair eyed him cautiously. "To what?" he asked carefully.

Zevran looked away and over to Shale and Wynne, who were walking to their tents after waving goodnight to Alistair and Zevran, who politely waved back. Then he turned back to Alistair and lowered his voice. "Your feelings about your fellow Grey Warden."

The templar just nodded slightly; he'd known this was coming. "I..." he sighed. "I assume you know we've slept together?"

"Well, of course," Zevran said like it was no big deal. Alistair, on the other hand, was fidgeting uncomfortably. "She was positively radiant the next day. All Morrigan had to do - bless her evil little black hole of a heart - was ask her how she slept. Raven was, apparently, quite eager to share. Then Morrigan told us." Zevran somehow managed to hide his disappointment that she had been much more enthusiastic after her night with Alistair than her night with him. Thinking about himself and Raven still felt like he was taking his own dagger and twisting it through his own heart. Zevran knew he wasn't supposed to feel in such a way, but after meeting her, he could not help it. Seeing her and Alistair together did not help the metaphorical dagger and its twisting, either, but he sucked it up. Raven had rightfully ended what they had for someone that could give her more than what Zevran could, and he could understand that. He had told her he couldn't love her, and she took that in, and she left him. She had reason. Eventually, she got over him. Zevran was disappointed he could not seem to do the same.

Alistair sighed irritably. "Do all of you have nothing better to do than gossip about our love life?"

"When we're at camp, no. When we're not... barely," Zevran said with a grin. "Anyway, carry on."

"I... Other than that, and the words themselves... and I'm not even sure sex counts... how... How do you let a woman know you love her? Truly, truly love her?" Alistair inquired, looking over to Zevran intensely. He wasn't sure he could even trust the elf on things like love. After all, he'd never been in love and he grew up in a whorehouse. What did Alistair expect? Some sort of deep insight?

Zevran shook his head, taking a deep breath and looking away from Alistair again. Instead, he found himself staring at Raven's tent. For the first time, Alistair noticed the hardly hidden pain in Zevran's eyes, but he stayed silent. Then Zevran spoke. "You do not tell her you love her. Words are meaningless. You can say all the words and promise everything in the world, but it does not mean you will be able to give her everything in the world and it does not mean those words are true. You let her know by feeling. When you feel you love a woman, you _can _let her know you love her. Tell her you will live for her. Do not tell her you will die for her. If a woman loves you back, she will not want you to die. But really? The only thing you have to do when you love a woman is _feel._ Just feel it and hopefully... hopefully, she will see."

Alistair blinked and stood up. "Thanks... Zev," he said, heading off to his tent to try and go to sleep. Before he reached the tent, though, he glanced back to see Zevran give him a small smile and lay back down by the fire, staring up at the stars once more.

X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X

Zevran had known it would happen this way, and he was surprisingly okay with it. That was what he told himself and how he acted, at least. Then again, he was good at lying to himself. If he told himself something with just enough confidence, he'd believe himself. He looked up as he heard footsteps approaching him. This was still technically the coronation, and he had to wonder why the new queen herself was approaching him. Well, if it _was _the new queen.

Sure enough, when she got close enough and he brushed her chestnut brown hair out of her face just as gently as he used to, it was Raven; the new queen, just like he'd predicted. "Zevran... I wanted to ask you if you would stay along as my consort," she said quietly; her dark blue eyes looked faintly hopeful.

He smiled faintly and kissed her pale hand; she looked surprised. "Cruel to the end, my little bird," he whispered gently before taking a step back. "I can't. You understand?" His heart was breaking all over again to leave her here with all these... politics. However, from what the others said, politics in Ferelden weren't quite as dangerous as they were in Antiva. Besides, he was fairly sure Raven could take care of herself and wipe the floor with any assassins that looked at her the wrong way.

Raven nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Zev."

"As am I."

Then he was gone.

Raven didn't know when he would back or if he would. All she knew was that somehow, she had just lost one of her best friends and she needed some time alone. She also knew that she wasn't going to get that here. This was a coronation. Her coronation. She'd certainly never expected to end up on the throne. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she whirled around, expecting, maybe even sort of hoping, to see Zevran. "Alistair," she said with a smile.

He smiled back and took her hand, leading her up to where their thrones were, side by side.

Raven didn't know why she could never make up her mind. At first, she'd wanted Zevran, but when he'd said he couldn't love her, she'd been able to tell he was lying, but the words themselves had hurt so much that it hardly made a difference, and she left. Alistair had been there to pick up the pieces, and she embraced him, loved him for it. But now... seeing Zevran even slightly reveal how broken up he really was made her wonder if she'd made the right choice.

She would never know for sure.


End file.
